


Protect My Heart, Close Your Eyes

by livvywrites



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Cancer, Death, F/M, Fluff, One Shot, Original Character Death(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-22 23:29:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,504
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/615599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livvywrites/pseuds/livvywrites
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Emeli is going to die. She knows that. It’s that simple. If she could choose, she would’ve spent one more Christmas. Just one more. Christmas is her favourite holiday. Everybody’s happy and laughing and talking with each other. That’s what she’s going to miss the most, the laughing and talking. Especially Harry’s laugh. Harry’s laughter is what keeps her strong during all this. Even though Harry hates his laugh.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Protect My Heart, Close Your Eyes

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Sebastian Rajakero](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=Sebastian+Rajakero), [rest in peace buddy](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=rest+in+peace+buddy).
  * A translation of [Sebbe knew he soon would die](https://archiveofourown.org/external_works/15060) by Marie Branner. 



> This oneshot was originally posted on my tumblr, but I thought I should give this a try. More notes at the end.

Emeli is going to die. She knows that. It’s that simple. If she could choose, she would’ve spent one more Christmas. Just one more. Christmas is her favourite holiday. Everybody’s happy and laughing and talking with each other. That’s what she’s going to miss the most, the laughing and talking. Especially Harry’s laugh. Harry’s laughter is what keeps her strong during all this. Even though Harry hates his laugh.   
 Sometimes Emeli curls into a foetal position, but stays silent. To someone who doesn't know, the position may look serene, peaceful even, but Harry knows that it's just to hide the immense pain.   
 Emeli has cancer. And she was diagnosed with it two and a half years ago. Two and a half years ago, the doctors discovered that eighteen-year-old Emeli Moore had lung cancer, even though she’s never had a cigarette near her mouth in her life. They tried surgery, chemo and radiotherapy, but one day Emeli just stopped responding to the treatment.  
  
  
Harry sits on the sofa, an arm around Emeli’s small body. She has her head on his chest and the light from the TV is reflecting in her eyes. Occasionally, she lets out a sleepy giggle. But Harry can’t laugh with her. Not when he knows that someday the girl he loves is leaving him. And not just for a day or even a week, but forever. He looks down at her and knits his fingers in her dark hair, scraping lightly at her scalp. Emeli closes her eyes and snuggles further into Harry’s warm body.  
 “That feels nice,” she whispers. Harry nods absently. Emeli came to him the day before with a book, much like the ones you see girls in movies having to plan their wedding. But this wasn’t a wedding book of course. No, Emeli came to Harry and begun telling him about what she wanted her funeral to be like.  
 “This book was actually my wedding-book, but yeah,” Emeli had said. Harry was taken by surprise; he couldn’t get a word out. Emeli told him she wanted a closed coffin; the thought of an open one scared the hell out of her. She wanted a box of her favourite chocolate with her, and Harry’s white t-shirt, which she’d taken possession off. She was wearing it now actually. And the church was supposed to be filled with lilies. White ones, please, Emeli had said and looked at Harry with her big blue eyes. And who was Harry to tell her that she couldn’t have what she wanted? He wished he could just cover his ears and scream. Or even better, to wake up from this horrible nightmare. But this was reality – Harry and Emeli’s reality. So Harry bit the inside of his cheek and nodded stiffly and tried to smile when Emeli babbled on about music choices and guest lists and god knows what. Harry didn’t really listen – he still _doesn’t want_ to listen. He doesn’t want Emeli to be the one to decide her own funeral. A twenty-year-old is not supposed to be the boss over their own funeral. They should start their lives, goddammit. Not end them.  
  
  
 “Do you believe in heaven Harry?” Emeli asks when they go to bed that night. She sits cross-legged on the bed as Harry throws his red shirt on the floor, even though he knows Emeli hates it when clothes are littering the floor. Harry shrugs and pushes away the black covers and sits down on the big bed, leaning his back against the headboard.   
 “I think I do,” Emeli says and crawls closer to Harry, making her comfortable on his naked thighs. “Or I think when you die, you come to a place where everything’s alright and there is no pain and no evil and everyone’s happy and laughing all the time. I like laughter. I like _your_ laugh.”   
 “My laugh is horrible.” Harry smiles and leans forward and captures a smiling Emeli’s lips with his own, and feels her smile before she returns the pressure. She leans away and crawls under the covers, lying on her right side so she is facing Harry.   
 “Harry?” He hums quizzically and lies down next to Emeli, putting his hand on her back and trails his fingers up and down her spine.  
 “No matter how far away you think I am, I’ll always be right next to you,” she whispers and those words right there break Harry’s heart a little. Emeli closes her eyes and moves her head from the pillow to Harry’s chest. The slow rhythm of Harry’s breathing calms Emeli and it doesn’t take long until she closes her eyes before she falls into a peaceful sleep. Harry doesn’t dare to close his eyes just yet; he needs to be sure Emeli keeps breathing. He needs to be sure she doesn’t leave him yet.  
  
  
Emeli becomes weaker after a week and always has a sick bag next to her in bed, just in case. She wants to be home when she dies, not in a sad hospital. She doesn’t have the energy to move and her tears fall more often than her lips turn into smiles. Harry makes sure someone is visiting them at least every other day. He can’t stand being alone with Emeli. Not because she is sick or because he doesn’t love her as much anymore or because he is sick of her company. No, Harry wants company for Emeli’s sake. He knows she hates when he’s moping around and is sad. And lately, Harry has been sadder than he has been for a long time. If it was up to Harry, he would lock the door and lying in bed with Emeli all day and just tell her stories and watch films and TV shows. He would even sing to her, even though he hardly sings to Emeli because he hates to sing in front of people. But Harry knows how much Emeli loves it when he sings and Harry would do just that if it meant that Emeli would smile. And he loves Emeli’s smile, it’s Harry’s favourite thing in the world. But it isn’t up to Harry. Well, it kind of is, but he has to think about what’s best for Emeli and not for himself. Because Emeli is what is important right now.  
 Harry is in the kitchen when he hears Emeli hurl from the bedroom and rushes in there, dropping the tea mugs he has in his hand on the floor with a loud crash. He sits on the bed and rubs Emeli’s back, brushes her hair away from her pale face and whispers sweet nothings in her ear. Harry kisses Emeli’s temple.  
 “You’re okay,” he whispers because Emeli hates vomiting and Harry wants Emeli to feel as good as possible, even though she’s annoyed that the sheets are all dirty and disgusting right now. “All good, everything’s fine. Just relax baby, calm down it’s not the end of the world. I’ll wash ‘em, yeah? I love you, go back to sleep.” As he rises from the bed and starts to take off the sheets, Harry feels a week grip around his wrist and looks down to see Emeli’s bright blue eyes looking at him. Her eyes are filled with pain and she looks so, so tired.   
 “Don’t go,” she whispers tiredly. “Want you to stay. Here. Don’t want you to leave.” Seeing Emeli so vulnerable is killing Harry and he obliges without blinking, lying down in bed next to her, shifting them both over to his side of the bed, away from the vomit. They lie forehead to forehead and Emeli’s breathing heavily, a bit dizzy from the morphine that’s supposed to ease the pain. Harry knows she still feels it though and he hates that there’s nothing he can do.  
 Harry wakes up with a start. Emeli is crying and screaming her lungs out.  
 “Make it stop,” she begs, eyes squeezed tightly shut. “Make it stop, please make it stop, it hurts, please, I can’t take it anymore.” Harry’s eyes fills up with tears and he reaches for his phone on the bedside table.  
  
  
The hospital is cold and smells like cleaning products. Harry doesn’t like it. Emeli wanted to die at home. Not in a fucking hospital. Hospitals are sad and depressing. Emeli is the opposite of that – she is warm and happy. She is laughter and joy. Emeli is like the sun the first day of summer, or like the first snow in the winter. She is hot chocolate on Christmas morning and the drink on a night out that you shouldn’t really be drinking because it’s one too much. Emeli is romantic dates, cupcake baking, food fights and spontaneous trips. She is music, the sound of birds in early mornings and the sound of the waves rolling in on the shore. She is family dinners and nights out with friends and handholding. Emeli is ice cream in the winter and hot chocolate in the summers, because the Styles-Moore couple is weird like that. She is breathy moans and pleasure that makes your toes curl. She is Harry’s first love and only love if he is the one to decide, but when he told Emeli once that she was the love of his life, she called him stupid and threatened to cut off his dick if he went into celibate after she died. And let’s not act dumb; Harry quite likes what his dick can do.  
 Harry lies in bed with Emeli, chest pressed against her back, arms wrapped around her. He whispers sweet nothings in her ear, because Emeli is now in pain and she just wants the pain to go away, she’d do anything to make it go away. Harry knows they don’t have much time left together.  
 “I love you,” he whispers and presses his lips on Emeli’s sweaty neck. She smiles weakly and pushes back into his embrace.   
 “I love you too,” she whispers back. She doesn’t really have the energy to speak loudly anymore. Emeli gasps in agony and Harry hugs her tighter, but still so, so gently. He wishes there was something he could do to make Emeli’s pain go away.  
  
  
It’s 1.30 am when Emeli takes her last breath. It’s 1.30 am when Harry waits in vain for Emeli to exhale again. It’s 1.35 am when the tears start falling down Harry’s cheeks and he whispers fanatically _no baby, come back to me, please don’t leave me, come back to me sweetheart, I love you, you can’t leave me yet, you’re not_ allowed _to leave me yet Emeli, bub, Iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou_ , as he peppers her face with soft kisses. He desperately presses his lips against hers and waits for the usual pressure back. But none comes. The nurses come rushing in and look at the monitors and read Emeli’s values. Emeli’s usual nurse, the one that Harry knows and likes, he even knows her name (it’s Alice), carefully pushes Harry down in a chair next to the bed, so the doctor can examine Emeli’s body. The doctor states the time of death and Harry stares into the air, his hand holding Emeli’s in a death grip. Alice crouches down next to him and tries to lose his grip on Emeli’s hand, because _he needs to eat and drink_ and she promises _that they won’t move Emeli until her parents are here, have you talked to her parents Harry?_ But Harry shakes his head, because _no, he has to stay, he promised not to leave her_. Alice rubs his arm and tries yet again to make Harry stand up and come with her, but Harry stays put stubbornly. He won’t leave, because Emeli might wake up again and he needs to be here then. Alice gives up soon enough, but doesn’t leave Harry’s until Marina Moore comes bursting into the room. Alice rises and dusts off her white trousers before walking up to the man. He stands at the end of the bed, looking at his daughter, the daughter who looks like she is fast asleep. The fact that she isn’t sleeping at all is heartbreaking.   
 “Ms Moore, I’m Alice Till and I’m your daughter’s nurse. I’m just going to go fetch her journals and stuff and then I’ll be right back.” The blonde nurse lays her hand on Emeli’s father’s shoulder and squeezes it gently.   
 “I’m so sorry for your loss Ms Moore,” says Alice and closes the door behind her. Harry hasn’t acknowledged his girlfriend’s mother, but he knows the woman is standing in the same room. He refuses to let Emeli’s hand go, even though Ms Moore kneels down on the other side of the bed, taking her daughter’s hand and kisses it.   
 “I’m sorry,” Harry croaks quietly after a long few minutes. It’s the first thing he said in an hour and a half and he can’t seem to face Marina. Being a single parent and an only child, Emeli and her mother were close and every other Sunday, Emeli and Harry had dinner at Marina’s house. Harry and Marina get along well and are always talking about whatever pops into their heads when they’re visiting each other. They’ve always been close, but got even closer when Emeli got sick.   
 “Silly boy, you don’t have anything to apologise for,” Marina looks at Harry and smiles faintly. “It’s not you fault Harry, you’ve done nothing wrong. If anything, you made her live longer. She fought longer because of you Harry. Don’t ever blame yourself.” Harry looks up and meets Marina’s eyes, which are the same sparkling blue colour as Emeli’s.  
 “But she never got her miracle,” Harry mumbles, remembering the time he had asked Emeli what she really wanted in life before she died. Her answer had been _I want to witness a miracle_ , as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.   
 “Oh Harry honey, she did indeed got her miracle,” Marina says softly and puts her hand on top of Harry’s one that is resting on the bed. “You were her miracle, love.”  
  
  
The funeral is as if taken directly from Emeli’s book. White lilies are everywhere and no usual songs are playing. Emeli wasn’t really a believer, so the songs the guests are singing are songs by Coldplay and Ed Sheeran – Emeli’s favourite musicians. Harry sits quiet on the front bench, next to Marina and his own mother. The two women cry quietly and sing along to the words of _This_ , but Harry’s eyes are locked on his intertwined hands in his lap. Harry hasn’t spoken all day, hasn’t really looked at anyone. Both his mother and best friend, Louis, have been worried all day. This wasn’t like Harry. Louis is watching him from two rows back. He remembers when Harry’s grandfather died, how much Harry cried and yelled and how angry and sad he was. Louis hasn’t seen Harry cry once since Emeli past away, hasn’t heard him yell, hasn’t seen the bruises on his hands, much like he did see last time someone close to Harry died. Harry has hardly talked to him at all, even when they’re hanging out. And Harry talks all the time. So yes, Louis is really worried.  
  
The parish house is also filled with white lilies. Neither Harry nor Marina had the energy to host the reception at their houses; there were too many memories of Emeli. And the church’s janitor had promised to help them clean it up afterwards.   
 Tapas are served, small portions of Spanish food, which was Emeli’s favourite food. Or Harry’s homemade fajitas were really her favourite but that isn’t really an option today. Harry has made the desert though; a few years working in a bakery have done him good. And Harry needed something to make him think of something else than Emeli. So he stood in the kitchen all day yesterday and baked chocolate cakes and apple and rhubarb muffins. Harry gets showered with praise for his _delicious cakes_ and _oh may I have the recipe for this_ and _I see the bakery and Mr Munn have taught you well Harry_. Harry forces a few smiles and excuses himself out of the small house. He stands on the grass in front of the parish house and looks out on the graveyard. Emeli has already been buried and the flowers from the guests have been escorted to it. Harry looks back into the reception-party and when nobody seems to be missing him, he opens the gate to his right and walks on the path leading to the graves at the eastern side. He stands in front of Emeli’s, her gravestone reading _Emeli Moore, beloved daughter, friend and lover. “Look at the stars, look how they shine for you, everything you do.”_ Harry lets out a strangled choke when he reads the Coldplay lyrics engraved to the stone. He remembers the first day he met Emeli. She had come into the small bakery with a friend, all smiling and happy. He hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her. _Yellow_ had been playing in the background, on the courtesy of Harry himself. Sunday afternoons were the best. Harry had the bakery to himself, he was the boss over the music, he could spend his time baking in between the breakfast and lunch rush, decide what cakes and muffins and cookies to bake. He had just come out from the back with a plate of freshly made chocolate cupcakes when Emeli and her friend had come into the small bakery. His boss, Mr Munn, had talked about expanding the bakery and turn it into a café, with both cakes and warm food. How cliché it may sound, Harry had almost dropped the plate at the sight of the dark-haired bubbly girl and had almost been tripping over his long legs on the way to the counter. He had put on the famous Styles-charm and bantered around with Emeli, making her giggle and blush a little at his sexual innuendoes. Yes, Harry had been a cheeky teenager. It wasn’t like Emeli hadn’t flirted and bantered back as much as Harry and laughed out loud whenever she made Harry laugh.  
 Harry isn’t a shy boy at all, actually he was a pretty confident seventeen-year-old, and is still as confident at twenty-one, so as he had seen the girls stand up and make themselves ready to leave, he had walked up to them and asked Emeli out.   
 The Harry who stands by the grave suddenly feels an arm around his shoulders. He jumps a little at the touch and turns his head to look at the intruder.  
 “Did you choose the lyrics?” Louis mumbled and pointed at the text. Harry nods and sobs, but no tears fall yet. He feels them pricking his eyes though, but they won’t just fall and it annoys Harry a bit to be honest. He has always been the one who’s not been afraid of crying.  
 “Mate, this isn’t healthy. You’re walking around like a dead person.” Harry winces and Louis bites his lip. “Sorry.” Louis sighs. “But seriously, this isn’t right Harry. You’re not talking, hardly eating and I know you’re not sleeping either because I know you Harry and you can’t lie to me.” Harry clears his throat and rubs his face with his hand.  
 “I promised her I would be strong,” he says. He still hasn’t met Louis’ eyes; he just keeps looking at the stone in front of him. A cold wind ruffles their hair and makes Harry shivers and he regrets walking away from his jacket. The thin white button-up shirt doesn’t keep the cold out. But Harry isn’t the one to complain. People has it much worse than he does, haven’t they?  
 “Doing what you’ve done for the past two weeks isn’t being strong Harry. What would Emeli say if she knew you weren’t eating or sleeping? She’d hit you, wouldn’t she?” Louis smiles and nudges his friend’s shoulder. “Crying doesn’t make you week Haz, you know that.” Harry stays silent and finally tears start to fall down his cheeks. He can’t seem to make them stop but it doesn’t matter and he doesn’t care. The silent tears soon turn into full-on sobs and suddenly Harry’s whole body trembles and Louis has to wrap his arms around the younger boy so he doesn’t fall down. Louis doesn’t try to make Harry stop; he just rubs his back and whispers words of encouragement in his hair, even though Harry is taller than him.   
 “Come on Harry, let’s get back in there yeah?” Louis suggests when Harry’s sobs decreases. “I don’t know about you but I want a taste of your chocolate cake before Niall eats it all. It looks absolutely delicious!” Louis chuckles and looks at Harry at an arm’s length. Harry chuckles through a sob and nods, letting Louis guide him back to the parish house and the guests.  
  
  
Everything looks the same when Harry comes back to the flat he and Emeli shared after a week at his mum’s house. He hangs up his jacket and puts his shoes neatly on the shelf, just like Emeli liked it. He picks up the bag from the floor again and makes his way to the bedroom. No reason to put it off for later, it’s not like he has something to do. So in a very unlike Harry-manner, Harry puts his bag on the bed, unzips it and goes to open the large dresser in the other side of the room. Being at his mother’s has its advantages – someone else giving him homemade food and who washes his clothes is something Harry could live with everyday. As he flicks on the lamp on the dresser, he accidently knocks down Emeli’s jewellery box.  
 “Oh for fuck’s sake,” Harry mutters and bends down to pick up the silver box. A piece of paper gets his attention and he sits down on the floor, forgetting about the clothes. It’s an envelope with his name written on it, in Emeli’s messy handwriting. Too curious to care about the tears burning in his eyes, Harry opens the envelope and takes out the letter inside of it. When he unfolds the paper, a photo falls out and lands in his lap. It’s taken in Paris, on one of their spontaneous trips they’ve done. Harry’s forehead is pressed against Emeli’s temple and he’s kissing her cheek, his grin toothy and wide. Emeli has her eyes squeezed shut and smiling widely. Harry turns the photo around and reads on the back of it. _Paris 2013 with Harry._ He puts the photo to the side and picks up the letter again.  
  
  
 _Dear Harry,  
_ _you reading this must mean I really did die. That is if you haven’t cheated and tried on any of my jewellery, in that case stop reading now please, I don’t want any tears on my necklaces, it rusts so easily.  
_ _Anyway, if you’re not being your snoopy self and I actually am gone, I want you to know how much I love you and if it was up to me, I wouldn’t write this letter at all. But I think you need this, even though you’re thinking about burn this right away. And don’t think I don’t know you’re thinking about it – I know you Harry Styles. And I’m so happy I got to know you – the cheeky weird kid with beautiful brown curls who made every girl yearn for him. But of all the girls in the world, you got the idea that I was the girl for you. To this day, I’m still wondering (are you able to think when you’re dead? Well, I’m doing it anyway as the indie kid trying to be hipster I am) what on earth went through your mind the day you asked me out. Who the fuck asks a stranger at a bakery? And don’t think for a second I didn’t say yes to you just because your chocolate cupcakes are to die for, because we all know food is the way to a woman’s heart. At least this woman. (Sorry for the ‘to die for’ parable by the way. I know how much you hate that.) You’re such an odd little boy Styles. And that’s what I love about you. You’re not afraid of speaking your mind or being yourself. Which lets face it, it’s pretty amazing since you’re Harry fucking Styles (sorry for swearing although we both know I’m not sorry because I’m badass). Even though I hate your hanger tattoo and your jokes are terrible, I love you so much.  
_ _Sitting here writing this letter right now I actually wonder why I do it. It’s not really me is it? I guess I’m doing this for you. You need to know that I loved you – that I still do. Somehow, you had it in your mind that I didn’t love you as much as you loved me. And I guess you’re right about that. Because you treated me like I was the world’s most wanted diamond. Always so careful, always so loving. And that’s a girl’s wet dream right there, isn’t it? (Well you wouldn’t know since you’re a boy, but pretend Harry okay?)  
_ _Harry, I know it’ll be hard, but I need you to go out there again and find love. I need you to find someone who laughs at your bad jokes, who sees past your weird tattoos and who’ll love you unconditionally. Not as much as me of course, because I don’t even think that’s possible. Whoops, I got a little off subject there. Point is, don’t give up on love. I know you told me I was the love of your life, but baby, don’t let that stop you. You never really believed in the soul mates thing, now did you? Just have fun and fall in love. And marry a pretty girl and have lots of pretty children. And whenever you need me, I’ll be right here, right next to you or wherever you want me to be. I will never leave you Harry; I can’t be the reason to break two hearts.  
  
_ _I love you so, so much. And I miss you. Loads. Trust me on that one.  
_ _Emeli xx  
  
_ _P.S If you don’t do anything about that beautiful voice of yours, I will chop off your hair in your sleep. And we both know how much you love your curls._  
  
  
Harry chokes out a laugh when he read the end of the letter. He brings up a hand and wipes the tears away from his cheeks, but they just keep on coming.  
 That night, he sleeps on Emeli’s side of the bed; first good night of sleep he’s had in three weeks he may add, with the letter on the bedside table and the photo close to his heart. He’ll take care of her wishes tomorrow or some other day.

**Author's Note:**

> I read this article about a boy who was going to turn sixteen and died of cancer. It really got to me and inspired me to write a one shot. So I did. And here’s the result. I have changed the story a bit though and swapped characters but the plot is pretty much the same. And yeah, I may have stolen a line from a walk to remember, but we all love that movie so it doesn’t really matter does it? :)


End file.
